


ring the alarm

by pop_tarts (thissugarcane)



Series: ring the alarm [1]
Category: Popslash
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-17
Updated: 2010-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:11:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thissugarcane/pseuds/pop_tarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christina, Pink, Britney, Justin, Redman, and lots of others. there's lots of sex, and drugs. based off many, many pop videos from 2002.  pairings -- oh, oh man. there are like. there's a lot. of sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. thursday night

Christina got on the floor by eleven thirty, did her usual round of the richer bettors and circled back to the stands by midnight.

All through the hour of dancing it was flushed and hot and wet and dripping. The sprinklers were on again because it was July, and someone passed her a popper and then her body was on fire, and when someone put a hand under her little skirt she moaned, pressed up and they were rubbing and rubbing and she danced along and--

pop.

Song ended, she panted and that black girl with the blond hair was holding her up by the shoulders. "You're so little."

"Yeah, gonna kick ass in the ring tonight."

"Oh," and the girl -- tattoos on her breasts, glistening -- was surprised. "Didn't know that was you."

Christina panted, leaned heavily on the shoulder presented her. "You're good. Dance with me later."

Girl grinned. Her face was masculine, but, nice. Nice and nice and lipstick with muscles. "Yeah, I'll be here."

"Gotta go," and then someone else took her hand, the skinny blond boy that had a hard-on for J ever since he laid eyes on him, so no action there but she said, "get me to the ring, I gotta fight."

"Can you even stand, A?"

Her hips were already moving again, snap, and snap and she pushed him off. "Fine, do it myself. Someone else," and a purr, there was that big black boxer, took on Rob last week and won, cock size of J's almost and the air was vibrating. "Someone else will make sure I get there."

He let go willingly enough. "Good luck."

Already warm again, warm and flushed and the sprinklers were raining down on them. The boxer -- they called him Red? Rain? something -- tilted his head, and she just slid up against him, hard already, hands up straight in the air. "Take me."

He grabbed her by the hips, pulled her onto his own hip. She was grinding down as he carried her, one arm around her waist and holding her up. Christina growled. Ring was getting closer, the big clock near the ceiling of the club almost said one. Rocked against him, harder, closer. Again.

"What'd you take, A?" Red said as he put her down. "Cause you gonna get your ass handed to you. Pink's in the ring later tonight."

"Fuck it, I fucked her," and Christina's tongue lolled out of her mouth, "I don't mind losing to her, s'all right."

The judges already had their eyes on her, one standing up and hand pointed up to the ring. Two ropes and concrete floor; "Need my hand wraps. Toss'em down."

Christina knew she was a crowd favorite. Some of the fans, sitting up in the stands waiting for the first round, were already pointing down at her. She bent over from the waist, tied boots and chaps on. Stripped the skirt off in one go, and shivered as the fabric rushed away from her thighs.

Panties soaked. The judge got on the microphone. "Christina and M. Round one."

A deafening roar, feet stomping. Christina hopped the ropes, felt them rub up against her as she slid into the ring. "Mmm yeah."

Other side, the new kid was already waiting, masked because until she won a few no one cared about her face, only her tits and the way her bones could break.

Christina bowed.

The air started thumping again, bass deafening and roaring in her head, mixing and she was sweating, feeling water and sweat drip down the insides of her thighs and into her boots as the kid threw the first punch. Hair in her face. Christina hit back, skin quivering. oh, oh yeah.

~

They had an hour of dancers on the floor, dancers doing flips and then the sprinklers came back on, more dancing and dancing and dancing. She went down on some big black guy from last weekend while three guys were doing gymnastic flips and tumbling in the middle of the dance floor, then dragged the girl, E, to one of the other rooms and danced in there for a while, heavy house beats lumbering slowly across their skins as Christina pulled the girl's pants down and fingerfucked her all slick with mud.

They were covered in the stuff, it was in their hair and on their faces and the girl bit down on Christina's neck, and they both slid down the wall and into the clay on the floor, breathless. "Seriously," the girl asked her, "how do you have the energy?"

"What?" Christina yawned. The light in here was dim and mostly filtering in the open sliding door; metal walls echo the DJ's cutting, and the booth for this room was in the corner, glass all around to keep the mud out. The music from the main room was still audible from outside.

E slumped down, and took a shaky breath. "You like, fight, and then you fuck, and fight again, and. Jesus. I can barely stand up."

Christina rubbed her breastbone, smeared wet clay down her front. "It's a gift."

"Aren't you back in the ring in ten minutes?"

"Fuck." And she was, so there would be only enough time for a quick and brutal kiss, and a run through the shower room to scrape the worst of the dirt off.

For the last fight of the night it was Christina and Pink, Pink in loose shorts and soaking wet wifebeater, nipples clearly visible. Muscles straining. Watching.

She was way less stoned by now, the drugs fucked out of her. The motorcycle came out for this one, she zipped the jacket on over a different bikini, and took the towel Mer handed her carelessly, wiped off some of her body and then tossed it aside.

Mer, the roommate. Christina kicked her leg out and over the bike, and then it was just her and a long metal ride out through the crowd and into the ring again. She was all greasy and could feel wetness between her legs, behind her knees, under her breasts and god.

The metal walls of the club were banging with cheering as she rode out. Helmet tossed to someone; then she flipped off the bike. "Ready for my closeup."

Pink was quiet, spat over the side of the ropes and then the bell dinged, they were off and this was more concentrated, more precise. Kick out, drop, lunge and Pink countered with blocks and punches of her own. More professional, because they both knew that this was what the people came to see, this is what everyone wanted, what everyone was here for. Everything was prelude to this, oily bodies pounding into each other, again and again, keeping in rhythm to the beat.

~

"You not gonna go in the showers?"

Pink turned around, duffle slung over her back as she headed out the back entrance, rusty door ajar to the alley. "I jog home anyway," she said, shrugging. "Not much point."

Christina tucked the helmet under her arm. Even drenching herself in the showers once the crowds have gone home never erased the smell of sweat; the whole club tasted like it, day in and day out. Through the door the sky was just barely lightening. "Wanna ride?"

"Yeah, okay," and Pink held the back door open a little wider so Christina could wheel her crotchrocket out into the chilly dawn. Pink mounted behind her and, kickstarting the bike, Christina rode off, helmet dangling from her fist.

Pink actually only lived three buildings down from her own skyrise, so Christina was in bed again before the sun fully rose. The light filtering through her cracked window was orange and pink and pretty. She fell asleep with the blankets up over her head to block it out.


	2. friday

"Yo, late again?" and Nick tossed a parcel her way. "That one's going up to the thirtieth floor, then three you gotta take over to the docks."

Work. Right.

"Yeah, okay, okay, I'm just," she rubbed her eyes, makeup smearing under her fingers.

Nick laughed. "yeah, I know. That's why the docks are second."

She flipped him off and scooped up the parcel. "I'm on time, bitch."

Work. Grey hallways and loose fitting pants, cool, air conditioned rooms. Runners for the major companies usually had to wear hot uniforms, but they got away with track pants and tanks here because all the runners were on foot. A hundred dollars every three months in footwear allowance, plus salary, made the job a good one but still, it was dull as fuck and stifling.

Christina hopped an express elevator straight up to the executive offices, scraping make-up off her eyes. Before she went to deliver outside the building that would have to go, and she'd have to find somewhere to get a stim drink, maybe some bread. Something to make the morning start out right.

"Hey, Chris, thought that was you slinking in on the monitors just now."

And this was just the opposite, Alex coming her way and running fast. "Can't talk now, I gotta get my delivery off and back down to--"

He railroaded her, following as she strode down the corridors and had to jog to keep up even though his legs were twice her length. "Just, wait a minute, please Chris, if you'd--"

"I'm not giving your digits to J because he doesn't give a shit about you. I took you to that club once because you needed to get out." She brushed hair out of her face angrily, looking up into his sad face. "Listen, everyone fucks there, that's what they do. Okay?"

"I, yeah." He sighed. "I know."

"If you want someone to stay with, to be with, go meet someone at a normal bar, Alex."

She left him standing by the elevators, and scraped at her lashes as the doors closed on his face.

~

"That's it?" She glanced at the clock on Nick's desk. "It's barely three o'clock, if you send me home I won't make rent tomorrow and I'll have to fucking sleep on the street."

Nick said, "Deliveries are slow today. Don't you have a match tonight?"

Christina blew hair out of her face, clinked her fingernails. "Not that's gonna get me an extra fifty bucks to pay my power and Connect bill. Fuck you, find me somewhere else to work for the afternoon?"

"Warehouse, maybe, but it's all forklift loading and you--"

She was already headed back down the hall. "Gotta make a quick stop, and I'll be there till seven. Page'em."

"Done." When the elevator dinged Nick was on the mic announcing her new work detail.

The basement of the building next block over, accessible by underground tube, had her pharmacy. Adrenaline and lite PCP tabs, and the special steroid/meth the doctor cooked up for her. After a boost drink from the vendor outside and a caffeine pill, Christina almost felt awake and able to go back to work.

~

Fridays down at ALARM had a different schedule than weekdays; there was live entertainment most of the time, instead of matches, and no amateur fights. Too, people wandered around in masks and capes and feathers. It meant more preparation, more costuming, because the crowd went all out, so the fighters had to as well.

Mer was already bathing when Christina got home, the smell of lavendar floating in their rooms, and steamy condensation coating every shiny surface. "Mer, if there's no water left I'm going to slap you."

A pile of six bath towels heaped in the corner, not to mention some weird new age meditation bullshit on their little hi-fi. Christina flipped the dial off. Mer called from the bathtub, "hey, I was listening to that!"

"Sweetcheeks," and Christina flopped down on her mattress, kicked her pants off and started pulling out paints and her boots, "I told you. my hi-fi, my station when I'm home. and that is bullshit fucking awful."

Mer appeared wearing a towel, and yeah, creamy legs and if she looked hard enough there might be a bit of curly red hair peeking out from underneath. "Has B left any messages?"

"None when I checked the Center. None from Nick either, so guess we have the morning off tomrrow."

Mer disappeared behind her screen, and Christina kicked her track pants off and down the laundry chute. Have to sort out her stuff in the basement tomorrow morning. Behind the screen, Mer dropped the towel, and started pulling out feathers and scarves and skirts. She said, "I have no idea what to wear."

Christina ran more water for a quick bath. "Whatever, M. It's not like you're onstage."

Water the right temperature, none of that lavendar shit, just her and the ceramic tub and a washcloth. She sank down, scrubbed her skin and dunked her head under, poured some chemical cleaner into her blond extensions.

"What're you putting on?"

Out of the tub, naked and cooling in the air -- hot still and already, since their coolant fan had been broken since last July when B came over and kicked it out the window, high on something. "Usual."

She pulled on a bikini top, silver, and shorts, grabbed body paint. Nothing too complicated, just enough. Always just enough. The real treat was the body, never what covered it up. It was something Mer, who'd grown up high class and came here for fun, still had money in the bank and didn't grow up a slum kid, couldn't get into her head.

"Yeah, okay," and Mer emerged, primped and decorated with glued on feathers. "Let's go."

Christina grabbed her motorcycle jacket, and some body oil -- the oil room might still be out of commission, but a girl could hope -- and nodded. "right. Time to head out."


	3. friday night

One of the major differences about ALARM on the weekend nights was that a lot more high breds showed up, looking for fun. It meant people might tip you, if you got them a tab, it meant a chance to make some money if they were interested in you and wanted to get you to dance. Christina, who'd dance for anyone and knew all the dealers by cock size, got a lot of tips.

"Anything for me?" she said, but Pharrell wasn't having it. "Nothing," he answered, "till you pay me. get yourself a tip, then come back."

"Fucker," but that was business, no ex till she coughed up something, some cash, some girl, some information. "Fine, what if I get you a song played?"

His eyes lit up. Christina also knew all the DJs by first name and had watched, last week, while Chris got a blowjob from D. Pharrell loved the music more than anything. "New girl, singing?"

Christina glanced over to where the temporary stage was set up, in amid the seats usually reserved for high paying fight fans. They were tucked away in one of the corners of the entrance to the dance floor, people forming a line against the wall and stuffed together in the narrow hallway beyond, most of them already moving in time to the music. The stage was directly opposite, and, yeah, there was a girl standing, mic in hand. Pretty girl, too, looked high class.

Christina nodded. "Do my best -- it shouldn't be hard. She looks easy. Gimme a whole sheet, then. I gotta sell tonight."

Pharrell looked her up and down, winked. "You always sellin'."

"To make money, baby." The line wasn't moving; guess inside had hit maximum occupancy, and until the people in the inner rooms of the club pressed together, moving as one, people would be stuck outside. "Kay, that's my cue to get inside," and she pushed to the front of the line.

"A, baby," and Busta, who along with two other very large men were keeping people outside, "always a pleasure."

Ignoring the protests from people who'd probably been in line for an hour, she shoved her way through the crowd, ignoring as people complained. "B, you gotta do something about the crowd. It's gettin' rowwwwdy..."

He grinned at her. Busta managed the boxing ring and made sure the fighters actually got paid something for their efforts. He'd jumped the fence of the highest class housing complex as a teen and never looked back. Busta belonged down here. "yeah, s'about time to let s'more people in."

Actually standing in the doorway meant that they could barely hear themselves over the music anyway. "Gone, B," and she went inside fully, nine pm and already the crowd was full and excited and right *there*. For a minute she wished she was fighting tonight.

Past the fetishwear, the animal heads and furs and feathers crowd, straight back to the DJ platform. Had to get some tabs if she was gonna make any money, had to get some money to make sure Mer and her weren't thrown out tomorrow.

A couple of twinks gave her a hand up to the stage. "You gotta put something together for me," and Christina looked at where the girl, black skirt and green top covering more skin than probably half the crowd below them, was standing. "Need a favor."

"She's not for sale, and I don't think she's fishing," Chad said, not looking up from his computers and consoles. "Would have tried by now."

"Need a song," and she jerked a thumb at the classy girl, "from her."

Chad flipped the track over to something slower, less uptempo and more grinding. The girl glanced over and he crooked a finger at her. She came. "Ask her yourself."

"Uh, you," and the classy girl bit her lip. "Fine, okay. What do you want?"

Christina grinned, cocked her hip to the side. "A song, for now. You willing?"

She shrugged, and grabbed the mic. "Fine. If you'll do something for me."

Licked her lips, and Christina looked up at the wall clock, counting down the minutes to one am. "Right." She stepped back, leaned against the window up here which was open a little and letting in actual night air.

Chad mixed the normal dance track in with some synth and a melody, and the girl started to sing.

And she was *good*. The tune slipped up and down Christina's spine, crawled along her skin and dug its nails in, pulled at her hair, rubbed at her limbs. Good stuff. Good voice. Good and hot and apparently everyone else thought so too, and Christina was stroking her thigh when the girl finished.

Better get her favor out of the way. "So what you want?"

The girl, blonde and uncomfortable, stepped away from the edge of the stage, and they went back down the stairs and into the shadows.

Chad spun the dance track back on. She had to speak right into Christina's ear to be heard. "I need to know my way around, here."

Christina nodded. "It's pretty obvious you don't belong here."

"usually I'm over at the Sunset. This is just--"

"One hell of a step down, then," Christina said, saving her the trouble. "Yeah, so what the fuck are you doing here anyway?"

"uh," and the blond chick glanced around, back out at the crowd.

"Ohhhh, I got you," and Christina was off, hand clasped around the girl's wrist. "you're looking for someone who got lost down here."

"I, yeah." The girl followed, couldn't break Christina's grip on her wrist anyway. Clutch just tight enough not to crush the bones. "What's your name?" she said, close to Christina's ear where the music wouldn't drown it out.

"I," and, "no one really ever asks that, here. A, or, Chris."

"Britney."

"See," Christina halted in front of the DJ booth for the second room, where an older man was spinning and the trannie sitting beside him was adding in echos and reverb and effects. "I didn't ask you."

She waved at the glamorously made up woman sitting languidly there, and, "yo, D, this little gal's looking for someone, thought you might know where they could be."

A full body glare, in between tracks, and the painted lips curved into a smile. Chris and D had actually been together, god knows how, as long as she'd known them. It was a fucking miracle. "A lost little boy?"

The girl squinted as the strobes started flashing, and Christina tugged her closer. Britney stumbled, almost falling into D. "I," she stuttered, then as the music picked up and Christina pressed into the crowd, everyone pressed into her, she almost yelled, "his name's Justin."

Foam fell from the sprinklers, and already Christina could feel the ache in her bones, the gnawing. She brushed a hand against Britney. "wanna dance?"

Britney pulled away, still disoriented from the strobe lights and looking right at D. "You know where he is?"

"Justin," and she sighed, D was gonna tell this one the truth and they'd lose another boxer to some fucking wife, "he'll be in the ring in ten minutes. Why don't you stick around and watch him?"

Christina snapped, as her body shook, "Not baby-sitting."

D shrugged, already mounting the DJ platform. "She's a big girl."

Christina looked at the girl, the same height as she was and not even moving. "I'm not sticking with you. If you're here, deal with it."

Britney snapped, "I've been to clubs before."

"This ain't the Sunset, baby."

Britney tilted her head, then rolled it back on her neck. She snapped a hip to the left, in time, and then closed her eyes, rolling her hips and moving a hand across her stomach, bare and clenching.

Watch, watch, and then a little shimmy, Christina moved towards her, let the crowd push them together and flowed like liquid across this girl. "You picked it up somewhere," she said, bit on Britney's ear. "I like you."

Britney kept one hand loose on the back of Christina's thigh, trailing it up and down, and heat and fire everywhere her fingertips touched, oh yeah. Right in Christina's ear, in her head almost, a honey sweet and sexy tone, "We don't all start out as high as the Sunset."

The foam coated them, slicked up their stomachs as they rubbed up against one another. "You interested in going somewhere more private?"

"Waiting for Justin," and that was it, Britney's hand was gone and she pulled away, wasn't anything but an ache in Christina's groin saying now now now and goddamned, this girl was hot. "You go get off," Britney said in her ear, "and I'll be here."

"Fuck," rolled low and gutteral out of her mouth. Christina wiped her forehead off. "I'd go down on you right here."

She could barely hear herself over the synth and bass and feet stomping, all of it echoing over and over and over, but Britney shook her head anyway. "Waiting for Justin," and fine then, Christina could go find somewhere else to get off. That boxer from before maybe, ride him while people watched. Don't need to get it here.

~

J headed into the ring at one am sharp, just like Christina. He was the feature Friday nights, leather and always the hat, that never fell off no matter where he landed. Never been knocked out, never lost. Bets on him were always good odds, you couldn't make a lot of money but it was pretty much a sure thing. A lot of people were waving around bet tickets that Christina knew had his name on them.

The real bets in J's rounds were always on how fast the other guy would go down. Even this time, three hundred pound black guy with brass knuckles and all he did was kick him in the balls, in the head and that was it, two minutes in and J's won again.

Most of the crowd were yelling, naked chests on the boys and some of the girls, arms waving in the air. Christina was sitting on the boxer's shoulders, screaming too because J's good people, he was gonna make it. His body handled the stress and the workout and he was pretty, tough and pretty so everyone loved him. That was the most important thing, that everyone loved him -- and the boxer's hands were gripping her ankles, holding her down on his shoulders so that she didn't fall off.

"Red," and she leaned down, "lemme go, hey?" He did, and Christina raised herself up and flipped off his massive shoulders, head over heels and body bending wildly. Landed lightly on her feet even among the people crowding around the ring, and the boxer stepped back a little to give her enough room to climb up onto the platform.

The music, paused only long enough for J to do a triumphal lap around the ring and then down amid the crowd, nothing but a bass beat, the steady thump thump thump still ringing strong. His curly head of hair was easy to spot as people congratulated him, everyone wanted a piece of him. Christina watched, hanging off the ropes of the ring so she could see over people's heads, as he paraded, then was pulled up short as he looked into Britney's face.

That one. That one was trouble, and so she let go of the ropes and hopped back down. J may be pulled back to suburban life but this was the only life, the real life and -- there, the synth back up and more tracks on top of the bass, the crowd dispersing into one big mob of sweaty bodies again. Everyone moved in time, one crowd, one entity, and Christina yelled out as she went to join up with it again.

Shimmy down to the floor, two guys pressed on either side of her and groping each other over her head. Kissing over her head as she worked the floor, the vibrations from the room and all the people coming through the soles of her feet. A part of her. In her. Nothing else.


	4. saturday morning

Fridays meant work again right at seven in the morning, because Saturday and Sunday were beach days, the massive freighters coming into the harbor and most everyone went to help unload. Two days a week, food and drink brought in on freighters, everyone paid cash and if you were lucky you could steal stuff from the containers. Some of the bigger freighters were larger than her skyrise, reaching eighty stories into the air and blocking out the sun. It was abandoned, sure, but at least Christina and Mer had a place with a view. J, who even had money enough to pay for a one bedroom, had moved last month and had ended up on an underground floor, no sun in sight.

The first 24 floors of their building were actually underground, since the construction on the roads had slowly built up over the years to several metres above sea level. The underground tunnels and roads -- cars whizzing past around cement columns holding up the tunnel-sky, nothing but more cement and more layers of urban life -- stretched for miles and miles and miles. When she needed space to think, Christina took the bike and rode forever along those perpetually dark streets.

ALARM's entrance was above-ground, right by the water and in the shadow of those immense skyrise apartments, but half the club actually extended beneath the street. The back entrance, opening onto a side street right by the docks, was the one Christina used if she was trying to avoid fans in the morning. Saturdays were different.

Friday nights always bled into Saturday mornings, no one going home and no one stopping. Christina, selling tabs and taking tips, was fairly crinkling with money by the time four am rolled around. She made a hundred and fifty bucks, still had two tabs left, so went to find herself someone to share with.

Skirting the edge of the mash of people, she saw familiar pink hair. Pink, yeah, Pink was different, a slum kid who didn't think the world was going to end, someone who fought and sang and fought and worked. Hell of a fuck. "Yo, you up at the docks today?"

"Same as always," and Pink looked at her. "You want something?"

"Offerin'," and she held out the tab, a lite tab so by the time six thirty rolled around and it was time to haul crates for twelve hours they'd be sober enough to work but stoned enough to not notice time pass. "If you're working this'll help."

Pink had a bruise along the side of her neck, and Christina couldn't help but stare at it. "Do I have to do something in return?"

A little grin said she wouldn't necessarily mind, but wanted to know before hand, wanted to know the rules and what was being traded. Yeah, Pink was slum, through and through. Christina put the tab on the end of her tongue, around it answered, "Nope."

"If you say so," and she sucked it off delicately, swallowed, and held her own tongue out. Christina put the second tab on Pink's tongue, and then sucked it off gently, swallowing just as a song came on.

Pink moved a bit closer. "Hey."

Christina draped both arms around her. "Dance."

~

People milled around everywhere on the thick metal dock, all waiting for the bored voice to call out their work number and dock assignment. Christina was sitting on a crate, knees tucked up against the back of the building. Having a 70-class work number was a real bitch; all the prime food shipments always went to the 50 and 60's and by the time she got around to hauling crates nothing was left except spices and maybe breathmints.

"Another saturday, huh?" Christina glanced over, and J looked back at her, added, "I can't believe I'm here again."

"You'n me both."

J sat down mournfully beside her. "At least you've got a chance at something worthwhile. By the time they get around to calling the 90's, there'll be nothing but air in those fucking crates."

"Heard this whole ship was food, straight from the boat to the classy restaurants. If we're lucky they won't have locked the containers." She shifted around, as the voice over the huge announcement speaker called another set of work numbers to dock 227-f. "Christ, we're gonna be sitting here all morning without any work."

He closed his eyes, wiped his face off. The sun, low in the sky, was still intensely bright and giving off more heat than it had the right. The two of them were dressed in light shorts and nothing else, a soaked bikini sticking to Christina's back already. J said, "it's times like these I kinda miss the high life."

She shoved him lightly. "All those good meals of steak, wine, and whores?"

"Still get the whores if I wanted." He moved around, and scowled at the speaker across the alley from them, which was just now getting onto calling for 60-44556a through 60-44656z. "The steak though? Yeah. I miss it."

"Your parents won't take you back?"

"Dunno." He shrugged, and Christina stared dully out at the people sitting around, waiting to hear where they were supposed to be. "Hey, where's Pink, anyway?"

"She started right at six. Got a 10 number."

J sat up and stared. "How the fuck did she get 10 digits? She can't be older than I am."

"Had an affair with one of the recruiting officials when she was fifteen. The recruiting official. I don't remember. When some old fucker died last year he made it so Pink got his number."

"She ever get stuff for you?"

Christina rubbed her face. Exausted, a little bit, the stim was mostly mellow now and she could feel her body settling, relaxing. "Once and a while."

"Man, I gotta have an affair with one of the recruiting officials. I'd be happy with a 70, like you."

"Go back to your parents, I'm sure they can organize it for you."

"Even if they could."

"so," and there was no reason to ask this, no reason and so why was she asking anyway, but it came out naturally. "who's the girl that was looking for you?"

"uh." Justin shifted around. it was obvious he didn't want to answer. "Y'know."

"Thought you and that bleached-blond kid were getting together." She shoved him again. "Didn't he even buy you dinner last week?"

A group dressed all in white robes passed them, hoods up to keep out the sun. "Fuck you," he said. "Do I ask you why you took Pink home last morning?"

Fighters were supposed to be available to the masses, open, hot. There for everyone -- that's why people bet on them. J, even though he didn't really get with many of the fans, still gave an air of being available, which meant people bet on the slight chance he might favor them some day.

She stood. "That's my number." He nodded, obviously wasn't going to push it which was good. She liked Pink, he liked the blond kid; as long as no one knew about it, it was harmless. "See you in training later."

~

They worked all morning, Christina's muscles protesting desperately. She got a nap in at lunch, a full hour leaning against one of the low-grav lifts and strapped in so she didn't fall, and another fifteen minutes the hour after. At home, collapsing for three hours sounded like heaven.

Of course, the message light on their Connect panel had to be flashing about sixteen fucking times. The first three were Mer's butler, all shit like "how are you" and "do you need any more money, baby?" Her parents told the butler to be nice to her so that they didn't have to admit their youngest child was fucking for a living.

Christina shucked her clothing -- the air cooling unit was still on the fritz and fucking Mer hadn't paid their Connect bill. Another thing she had to do before ALARM tonight, drop by the office on the top floor of their building and pay their rent, pay their Connect before the building managers cut their Messenger and electricity off.

She slept for two and a half hours, just conked out on the mattress on the floor naked. When Nick came by with their work schedules for next week she answered the door with no clothes on, and he looked away, throat working.

"What's the matter, Nicky?" and Christina rubbed her stomach. "Don't like the scars?"

Operations, a lot of them, left little scars criss-crossing her stomach and breasts, hips. They weren't often visible, even in what she wore, because the darkness of their world faded them to skin-tone. In their apartment, with the summery sunshine flooding the room, it was all too apparent that she'd been stitched back together piece by piece, numerous times.

"I have your schedule," and he handed her the disk. "make sure you're on time."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Say hi to your boy from me," and shut the door, dropped the disk on their desk. Work could wait. it all could wait.


	5. saturday

The gym was only about two miles from her building, not far enough away to bother with the bike. Christina usually skated or jogged over there, started the workout with the two miles and then pushed it at the gym for a few hours.

Down the elevator and onto the surface streets, good pace, jogging along. There were a lot of people out today, Saturdays were usually shopping days, commerce during the week left to the people who still had money. Vendors were selling everything alongside the 24th floors of the tenement buildings, but none of it was useful, nothing but shit and broken stereo equipment, so she didn't stop.

Jogged past a folk band, set up on the sidewalk and playing cracked instruments, an auto-harp and the lead singer had dreads older than she was. The plastic sidewalks in this district were cleaned once and a while by the sweepers, this was now the financial district and yet, still not swank enough to kick these sidewalk prophets from their midst.

Halfway through a song, Christina turned and went back, crouched down to listen. Lead singer had a voice, one hell of a voice. Nothing you could dance to, but then folk singers never did, all they did was talk about their feelings and the feelings of people passing through and by.

"Hey," the girl holding their collection tray said. "Pay for the word?"

"You'll never make me believe that any of y'all have any words more than me," Christina replied promptly, but quietly, because yeah, people might not be smart or wiser but they still deserve their say. What a voice. She dropped a couple of coins in the bucket, and their clinking echoed along with the singer's last notes fading away.

~

J was already working the dummy when she finished the cardio, came into the boxing area. "How's tricks, baby?" and she held the other side of the dummy, moved and swerved while J pounded his bare fists into pliable plastic.

"He hasn't called me."

"you boys," and he held his hands up, signalling it her turn. She stretched her arms out, cracked her neck, then nodded, started pummelling the dummy while J held it. "So sensitive."

"Yeah, well," and he countered her, tried to trick her by ducking the dummy. She just kicked it instead, bare toes making a satisfying *thwack*. "I'm tired of havin' no one, you know? Is that so bad?"

"Is he good enough for you?"

J held the thing still, let her just pound away, again and again. "I'm not good enough for him, probably," and he shrugged. "He's monied, at least."

"You could have money, too," and she stopped, jerked her head over to the tread mills. They picked a couple right beside each other. "You chose not to. That doesn't mean he's good enough."

"His parents are--"

"Fuck that kind of status," Christina said sharply. "That doesn't count here and you know it."

J lapsed into silence for a while, and she wondered if she'd actually said too much. He didn't seem angry, they just ran on and on and on, for about a half hour. No one else in the area paid them any mind; most of them were either boxers from other clubs -- a lot of night clubs had fight nights, Christina had been to a few in her youth -- and the boxers knew enough to leave them alone. There was an understanding; training, you just left someone alone. Other fighters knew it was a job, you did it as a job.

There were five or six fighters in the massive warehouse room, and a couple of rich kids keeping their bodies fit and trim. The diet drugs and steroid complements only did so much, so most of the kids with money tended to work out to augment their drug regime.

Christina recognised the pair of men sparring in the corner, from a club on 52nd street; the rest of them weren't even blips on her radar. "come on, J," she finally said. "He's really got you this worked up?"

She snuck a glance at him, and yeah, fuck, the kid looked worried, worried and involved. "Yeah, he has." He looked at her. "Fine, laugh. Whatever."

"I'm not gonna laugh," she said. "Come on. sparring time."

"Yeah, okay." He grinned. "Some day, I'm gonna get to take you on in the ring for real, honey."

She snarled at him, teeth bared, "and I'll wipe the floor with you," then grinned. "Yeah, eventually they'll realize that we'd make money and we'll have to fight."

J looked thoughtful, as they wrapped their hands and stretched. "We could choreograph some of it. maybe get some tips on the side."

As they started to spar, the rest of the room fell away. A punch, easily blocked and two kicks. J countered with a couple of punches and some new move. He was one of the most intuitive fighters she ever went up against, they'd make a good show in the ring, people would come from all over to see it. Busta could make a killing. Something to mention, some day.

J picked up the pace and she stopped thinking, let her mind float and trusted her instincts to know what to do. Like they always did.

~

The weights were always their cool down, bone tired and pushing against abused muscles, bones creaking. Christina was feeling every joint in her body ache.

"You know double M?" J said suddenly.

"Of course."

MM, a rapper by trade and amateur boxer to get his rocks off, hadn't ever won a fight. It didn't seem to matter what moves he did or didn't know -- in the ring someone always got the better of him. He wasn't nearly good enough to be in Christina's class, was always in the B-rate fights in a back room, amateurs who weren't ever going to make it. Once a month he signed up for amateur A ring night, and without fail, he'd lose.

It wasn't even that he was that bad. None of the other fighters who'd watched him practise could figure out why he was so soundly thrashed in the ring.

J said, "He says you two slept together."

She shrugged. "He says he's slept with a lot of people that wouldn't touch him with latex gloves on."

J shook his head. "Like who?"

"Chris K for one."

"Chris said he didn't sleep with someone?" J snorted. "He's slept with everyone, Fuck, even I've slept with him and I must have slept with fewer people than anyone else at ALARM."

Surprising that, and, "You slept with Chris K? Jesus, I knew you two were tight, but."

He shrugged. "D was there."

"D let you?"

"D and me are tight, too." He paused, letting the weights hang free, to wipe his face. "He's saying he fucked Britney, too."

She sat up, let her hands dangle between her legs. "That son of a bitch."

He nodded. "But, everyone knows that you had more taste than him. Fuck, Joshua has more taste than him and I think he's slept with the entire population, transient and not, of the club. He's slept with more people than you." J stood up, pulled her up too. "No one knows that about Brit."

She sighed. "The only person that's ever slept with MM is Dre, and that's because M's been his bitch since the kid was fifteen and green. Britney looks a thousand times too good for him."

Justin's face was guarded. "She is."

As Justin turned away, she rounded on him. "Why do I get the feeling you fucked her?"

"Shut up. She's a good kid, deserves the Sunset, not this filth man."

She aimed a sudden kick at his head and he staggered. "You love this filth, baby. Don't forget it."


	6. saturday night

Saturdays were always the best nights.

Christina slipped in through the basement, climbed B's four flights of stairs to his apartment. Knock three times, and then the eyeslit opened up, "yo, what up A, gimme a minute."

A second later and the huge metal door creaked open, ushered in to Busta's suite. Red was already there, smoking a pipe that smelled sweet and sticky. Christina licked her lips.

"A, what you doing tonight? In the ring?"

"Me and Pink, so they say, then J's up, then us again." She slumped down beside Red and he passed her the pipe. "It's Saturday."

Saturday was the big fight night. Saturdays, the only ones in the ring, for six hours straight, were hardcore fighters, the ones that she was actually a little scared of facing, the ones that could probably kill her if the game wasn't so profitable. Few years ago, a girl was fighting, first Saturday of the month, and the crowd got ugly. The other boxer nearly took her head off. Literally.

He pushed the pipe under her nose again, but not tonight, needed her wits and all the energy she could muster. Shook her head. He shrugged. "You'll survive another night."

"Fuck, I was up at the docks all morning." She yawned, and B came in.

Busta was a big man, ex-boxer. Runs things, well. tongue like no one else's, huge and thick.

"Where's your bike?"

"Down the stairs."

Busta waved a hand; some kid that was hovering around behind him trotted off to bring the bike up in the elevator, ready for Christina to ride it into the top floor of the club. B's rooms were covered, every wall plastered in pictures and graffiti.

"Anything you need, A?"

She was already greasing herself up, pulling chaps out of her bag. "Nah, I'm good." Got on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, "you take care of the betting, baby. I'll be out at one, same as always."

Busta patted her head fondly. "Good girl."

~

The bike swerved through the lineup of people waiting to crawl down onto the actual floor; nothing but a long hallway and throngs of sweaty people all pressed against the railing, waving their arms at her riding the bike. And the bike itself, thrumming underneath her.

Saturdays were Christina's favorite nights.

The huge LED clock on the wall read two minutes to one as she roared up to the balcony, and turned the bike off. Roaring crowd, last vibrations from the bike engine going through her legs. Skin tingling already, the crack smoke from B's room going through her head and making everything dizzy, hot and cold and *hot*. She stood on the bike seat, legs and thighs apart, feeling the bass all up her thighs and into her stomach.

The new girl held her towels and wraps, mouth at waist level and Christina almost pushed up against her face, just a little. The girl looked eager, licking her lips and face upturned, yeah, she'd do it, too, all Christina had to do was move a little closer -- hips pressed forward into the air, legs a little farther apart--

"RING THE ALARM"

Busta's voice, deep and low and booming against the metal of the club. The cage dropped, and Christina jumped straight from the seat of the bike into it, caught her wraps as the girl tossed them up. Cage door dropped, locking her in, and she pressed up against it, bars cold against her skin, knees straddling the metal.

"RING THE ALARM"

They lowered her, slowly, and the bass beat shook the chains, rattling it and the yelling was almost louder than the music, beat lost in the screaming. Screaming and screaming for her. Helmet off, tossed aside.

"RING THE ALARM"

and finally, she set down and the music went absolutely silent for all of three seconds, the crowd hushed up, everyone held their breath as her cage settled, and across the ring, Pink's did too. They stared at each other through the bars, and it was the only time, ever, that the club would be quiet all week.

Then as the cages swung open and the two of them stepped into the ring, a high pitched siren, shrill and right into everyone's skull, insistent ringing. Alarm.

~

"you good, A?" and Pink clapped her on the shoulder. It was only round three, two thirty and they were pacing themselves nicely. She was barely bleeding.

Christina leaned into the hand stroking her shoulder. "yeah, I'm good, baby."

"you should get something for your lip," and Pink ran a fingernail over the cut in her mouth. Yeah, it stung, but, yeah.

Christina sucked the fingertip into her mouth, licked it. "we can take ten minutes."

The crowd around them was already panting, straining over the barrier to get a better look at the two of them. Pink was standing over her, sitting on her stool and, if she just -- hand on Pink's hip, pulled her forward so that. Yeah. tongue out, gently ran from crotch to bellybutton.

She felt Pink shiver under her hands, jerk forward despite herself. Christina grinned. "Sure you don't want to take a break?"

Pink stepped away, wiping her face with a hand. "when we're done here."

The gong sounded; a minute until round four. Christina sagged onto the stool, aching. Eight more rounds and four hours. She stood wearily, faced Pink off again.

~

The yelling grew dull, muted, faded into background noise and all she could hear eventually, every Saturday, were the sounds of her fists into someone's face, their fists into hers. The crowd kept calling out for her and Pink, again and again, she had to keep punching in her jaw, taking hits around the ribs and face.

Three. Three thirty. Christina leaned over the ropes at one point, had to, and yelled at Busta, "hey, can't someone else take a round for once? Pink's gonna collapse over there." But of course the girl was too stubborn to take a break, insisted she was fine, so again and again and again. Her and Pink, and the smacking sounds of a black eye waiting to happen.

Four. Four thirty. J took a whole match, half an hour of going up against some tall guy with tattoes and angelic blond hair, a fighter from 52nd street. At the end of it he was dazed and shaky, couldn't barely walk but the guy -- Nicky? Nat? -- gave him a smile, some respect so J shook off the adrenaline tab and just gulped some more water down again.

Of course right after, the fucking crowd started chanting "A! Pink! A! Pink!" The rhythm was in perfect time to the music, somehow each syllable was perfectly pronounced. Some rich scout was sitting with Busta, too, Christina could see, some guy who Busta would defer to, and if he nodded--

Right, of course. Busta waved an arm, and the scoreboard said "A -- Pink" yet again.

Five, five thirty, and even the refs looked worn out. Just another half hour until dawn, dawn and then she could go home and sleep.

Wiped sweat and blood off her lip, her forehead, where Pink had caught her -- yeah, her face was gonna swell up tomorrow, that was gonna bruise. Have to use a medkit before she went to bed. At the break, took another adrenaline tab, adrenaline and a bit of meth, maybe she'd get through another night like this. A great night, there was nothing else like it in the entire city, a crowd screaming your name, hundreds of people wanting you. Yeah, Christina loved Saturday nights.

She just hated Sunday mornings.

~

"Listen," and Christina sagged onto her bike. "It's, the only thing I really want right now is a bed to sleep in, and eight hours of being unconscious."

Pink grinned. "I did the same stretch you did, remember?"

Ghost of a smile, even that hurt too much because of her cut mouth. "rain check?"

"Yeah, sometime," and Pink turned to go.

"Hey," and this was impulsive, maybe, but fuck if Christina wasn't always impulsive, never thinking and so far it hadn't turned out too badly. "Want a ride home?"

"Yeah," and another smile, so that was something, and if it wasn't sex, well, sex was easy. Pink got on the bike. "Yeah. Thanks."


	7. sunday afternoon

Sleeping in until noon was a luxury that Christina got once a week, without fail, Sunday and the thick blinds muted the harsh sun, kept it from shining right into her eyes in the morning. Sure, it was still a hundred degrees in their rooms, but Mer was gone early, back to mummy and daddy for brunch and the place was quiet, quiet and hot and stifling.

Even the temperature didn't wake her up this Sunday, she slept for a blissful six hours, then at noon when the Connect panel started buzzing to wake her up, of course it didn't feel like enough. Sunday never felt long enough, especially when she spent most of it asleep.

Two rings, a pause, another ring, then repeated. "Okay, fuck-- what, who is it downstairs?" because that could only mean one thing, someone buzzing up to be let in, someone without an ID and access to the building and since Nick lived here, J lived across the street and had access, it couldn't be anyone she knew well. Into the com, "yeah, who is it?"

Vaguely familiar voice. "Christina?"

"Who's askin?"

"It's, Britney."

Fucking hell. "it's barely noon, what do you want?"

A sigh. "Can I come up?" Christina waited. "I brought some breakfast."

"Food?" and yeah, okay, so the kid was bribing her, but, "real food? proper honest-to-god food?"

"Swear. Can I come up?"

Christina buzzed her in.

~

"What happened to you?"

Christina blinked, glancing over at the mirror. both her eyes had black rings around them, her cheek was swollen and puffy, and her lip was bruised, still had crusted blood on it. "oh," and she licked her lip gently, "yeah, tough night. Whatever."

"Are you--"

"Yeah, fine," curtly, and, "drop it. What do you want?"

Britney, after a moment, came into the apartment more. She dropped the packages of food she was carrying on the counter, which Christina immediately tore into and started wolfing down. Britney said, "I need you to do me a favor. I need someone's address."

Christina was incredulous even as she was smelling the bread. "you want me to show you where J lives?"

Britney folded her arms across her chest, looked faintly annoyed. "You don't have to make it sound so accusatory."

"Well, from what I can tell," and all of this was said around a mouthful of fresh baked bread, none of the cold storage shit or hard tac that she was used to, "you're wanting me to help you spy on him. So, yeah, sorry, no."

"It's not like that, okay? It's like." Britney clucked her tongue. "I have to just, talk to him in private. It's not like I'm even trying to get him to come back home or anything, I just need his help."

"Why?" Christina asked bluntly, reaching for the jam. Oh, and jam. Bread and jam, and some fresh eggs, some milk. She hadn't had a breakfast this good in months. "you've got everything you could want, it looks like."

Britney eyed her, gaze hard and mouth thin. "I'm pregnant."

Christina spat out her mouthful. "it's J's?"

"It can't be anyone else's, no. Justin was the only boy I ever slept with."

"Serious? his name is Justin?"

"If we're done with the questions, would you please help me?"

Christina slathered some more jam on her fourth piece of white bread. "If you're pregnant, doncha want him to come home and like, take care of the brat or something?"

"As a matter of fact, no," Britney answered, mouth still thin and angry. "I simply need his approval to raise it myself. My family's promised to help me, and I'll be fine on my own. But since it is his baby, I need him to give it up."

"you think he will?" Christina said.

Britney stood, wiping dust off her skirt and pulling down her shirt. "He's going to have to, or come home. What do you think?"

Christina swallowed. "Okay, I'll take you."

~

She left Britney and Justin talking low, just in the door of his rooms, and went out for a jog along the docks. Justin, and it was weird, Justin not J, he had a name now and not just a letter. It made him a little closer to the high class brat he used to be, instead of the slum kid he was now.

The docks were busy, lines and lines of people setting up to load cargo to and from the big liners, and high overhead the well-money'ed passengers getting ready to board for their cruises. She'd heard people tell of going on cruises, Mer described a week at sea once with people catering to her every whim. Christina didn't and wouldn't ever have a high enough ID number, nevermind enough money, to take a cruise. The closest she'd ever get was loading and unloading, down at the surface level.

Her face was starting to hurt, too, the one eye swelling shut, so it was time to see someone about giving her anything to speed up the process.

The doctor, who worked in an empty warehouse down by the docks, could fix most any problem that was wrong with a body. Christina had had a lot of work done, he'd re-stitched her bones back together, healed her body and strengthened it. "Doc," as she pushed open the glass door to his office, "need something, if you're up for it."

"Oh, you again?" a bald man, glasses, slim. "You should be more careful."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, grinning. Sat on a stool, spun around a few times, and, "you know I'm good for it, can you just gimme something for my face? Have to look good again before tomorrow night."

"You always say that, Chris. I don't know why it's so important," he said as he fished out some patches and sealant for her.

She handed him her ID, to log the transaction, and then said, "come to the fights and find out."

"Not my thing, thanks," and as he handed back her wrist, logging the print. "See you next week."

Back out the doors, sealants tucked safely away in her inner jacket pocket and zipped inside. Straight down Dockside, through the rest of the warehouses and straight up 58th to her building, past the office towers and tenements. The street down here was lower, down to the eighteenth or nineteenth floor even, the streets sloping gently down to the dockside. Running up town was a lot more of a workout, and with cracked ribs it hurt like a bitch, but forty blocks and she'd be back at her place.

Forty blocks, and Christina, winded, had to pause outside a bakery to catch her breath. "Jesus," but, now would be as good a time as any to make sure she had some food in the house, so, in to buy a loaf of hardbread and enough time to recover.

In the mirror above the counter she could see the whole right side of her face purpling nicely. Fuck.

"Gonna need some water with that, Chris?" The baker, who used real flour and didn't charge her extra, was about fifty, a friend of her mother's back from when her mother ran a business too. "you look like you could use some real liquid."

"Yeah, all right, toss a few bottles this way," because the water reclamation faucet only gave you four litres a day and sometimes, like now, it felt better better to have water you knew didn't just come from the waste plant in the basement.

Jogging with groceries was always a little more difficult, but nothing really, just her bruised ribs screaming and finally _finally_, she was back at her building, card in the slot and up the elevator to home.

Christina barely tossed the water and bread in her fridge before shucking her clothes and collapsing onto the mattress. Gingerly applying sealant to the cuts on her face, her arms, legs, peering in a hand mirror to smother her lip in the blue goo. There was a huge gaping gash in her thigh, a little crusty and stinging. The sealant stung going on, then a cool numbness infected her skin. Worst of the damage taken care of, Christina fell back onto her pillows, pulling the sheet over herself to sleep the day away.

ALARM was closed Sunday nights, the only night of the week she had off from the ring and no work meant she could sleep the clock around, get up in the middle of the night and go to her early shift at the Courier Service Monday morning. Mer was gone until Monday night, and so, bright hot sunshine seeping through the slats in her blinds, she fell asleep.


	8. sunday evening

The Connect panel woke her up.

The digital screen, flashing dull green and muted grey, read nearly seven pm, almost a full six hours sleep and still not enough. Her body was screaming fatigue, but it could be Pharrell with a delivery, it could be Busta with her tips from that rich guy who was betting last night. Evening was the time that everyone did business and she couldn't ignore it in case it was someone with money.

Christina buzzed whoever it was into the building, absently pulling on some excersise shorts and a tank top that one of Mer's men had left behind. The face at the door, however, was Britney's.

"Okay," she said, scowling, "you like, can't just. What do you want?"

Britney kept her head up, eyes level with Christina's. "Can I come in?"

Christina stepped back. "I already showed you J's apartment, what else do you want?"

She stepped into the rooms, casually glancing around. "I came to repay the debt." Christina narrowed her eyes, trying to see the game but no, Britney was speaking calm as you please. She added, "and take you out for dinner."

"Dinner?" A snort.

"Do you have anything you can wear at the Sunset? There's a dress code." She couldn't help but laugh that time, but Britney's face didn't change, though her eyes did narrow a bit. "I'm serious."

"The Sunset."

"Yes. Steak dinner, lobster, wine, whatever you want." Britney brushed hair out of her face. "Because you helped me this morning. Payment of the debt; I know how it works. You do something, someone gives you something back."

Christina scratched her empty stomach, where a bruise was fading into dull yellow-y purple thanks to the sealant. "And all this time I settled for sex when I could've gotten steak."

Britney tilted her head. "Look, are you coming or not?"

The sun was down, the last of the horizon shining burnt copper through her window, and the day was rapidly cooling off. Still, a layer of salt and sweat was dried on all of Christina's skin, a hazard of sleeping in the sunshine on the forty-third floor of a tenement. "Lemme wash up and change."

Christina started throwing clothes off, grabbing towel and chemical cleaner, her colorant and softener -- her hair was coarse and the shocking colors wouldn't fit at the Sunset. A muted blonde, maybe, soft ringlets and some of Mer's old clothing to hide the bruises that had sprouted up all over her body. She held up the colorant, and grinned. "Wouldn't want to come out to high society looking fresh from the slums, right? Something suitably dull?"

Britney laughed, as Christina headed for the tub.

~

"I've got a car," Britney said, as Christina held out her bike helmet. Mer's closet was ransacked and she was gonna have Christina's head come morning, but fuck it, she was dressed in a skirt with a diagonal hem, one side down to her knees, and spindly spikey heels. It was just as well they weren't gonna have to ride the bike, dressed up in all this shit.

Christina left a message on the Connect, in case anyone called her or tried to come by for the tabs she owed them -- J should be coming to collect the fifty from last week -- and locked up with a bit of trepidation. A car. Cars weren't completely unheard of, down in the tenements, but not many people bothered with them, stuck to scooters or bikes or walking. A few had hover boards, or plain old skateboards too. Cars were for people who lived further up the hill, who could see trees out their front windows.

A sleek black stretch Merc came to pick them up, the driver opening the door for her and Britney. A bottle of red wine was chilling in an ice bucket in their door, and Britney opened it for her, poured some out but only had half a glass, herself.

It would almost be worth it to be rich. The car itself had air conditioning. Christina checked herself in the mirror.

The car wound gradually farther and farther up the hill, and the streets became wider and wider, the huge skyrises giving way to warehouses, older brick, and finally individual houses, the alarm systems flashing faintly on every gate. She could feel the altitude changing, the money seeping up from the pavement. The steep rise continued, and Christina could almost *feel* the smog lifting.

"Almost there," Britney commented, out of nowhere. "Ready?"

The soft music playing -- some kind of weird jazz with vocals, space age and probably from the new station -- muted, and the driver called through the speaker, "tonight's password?"

"Lipton," britney said, clearly, and he rolled up the partition again. "It's changed nightly," she said, absently, pouring more wine. "To get into the town up here, you need the code."

The wine smelled rich, fruity, and Christina had drank over half the bottle by the time they stopped to drive through the first gate. Here, the houses were as big as warehouses, complexes with winding roads all to themselves and cottages dotting the scenery.

"Must be nice having a patron," she said, spying a group of people having dinner on the patio of one of the smaller cottages. A girl in an apron was bringing them a huge roast of some kind, buffalo or whatever, Christina hadn't seen meat that size in years, if ever.

Britney offered her more wine with a quirk of her lips. Christina held out her glass. "it has it's benefits."

They finally pulled up to a huge mansion, one of the biggest in the community, with another entry gate all to itself. The security was clear, every ten feet there was another faintly blinking panel, either hidden behind a statue or cleverly concealed behind a bush. The archway, huge and flanked by columns, had a small crowd around it, people waiting to be ushered past the first wrought-iron gate.

"Have the last of it," as Britney poured Christina another glass. Christina looked around, as the driver opened their door, but Britney just climbed out easily, glass in hand, so Christina did the same. "After you," and so Christina, sipping red wine, approached the crowd.

~

"Was that a *zebra*?" And, sure enough, another striped zebra was lead past them, into a side entrance and then the doors slid closed behind it. Christina peered after the animal. "That was a zebra. Jesus."

Britney muttered, "hang on, we're almost at the doors --" and then, a long lineup of people dressed in the finest clothing, talking quietly and all pulling out gold VIP ID cards to present to the man at the inner doors. They were standing in an outer courtyard; the first gate had opened up to a cobblestone alleyway, more stone buildings and lace curtains. Someone had driven them, in a miniature limo, from the entry gate to this door.

The line moved slowly forward, Christina restraining her tapping foot. More and more people arrived, and the discreet waterclock in the middle of the courtyard rang out ten o'clock. The place was huge, a mansion of a castle with discreet lights every ten feet, torches of glowing plastic diffusing light all over the dark grass. The moon shone bright from behind the clouds, and there were palm trees and grass springing up, flourishing. Music and flashing drifted down from the closest towers, and the air smelled like fresh flowers.

"The decor's changed," Christina murmured, as they came closer to the front of the line. "Last time I was here it was last millenia's modern stucco and lasers." She looked up at the stars, visible in the dark sky. It wasn't cold; it was never cold in the city anymore, and yet, there was a cool breeze blowing from somewhere. "I like this better."

Britney gave her a hint of a smile as they finally reached the head of the line, and she presented her gold Sunset ID, with it's silver strip. The doorman barely glanced at them, just scanned the card and handed it back. The door opened automatically, smoothly letting them into the entrance hall.

"So, what now?" Christina said, looking around. "It's ten thirty, so what? Dinner? Dancing?"

"Bit of both," and Britney, with a firm hand on her elbow, steered her through a maze of hallways and up several huge stone staircases. "I have to change. On stage tonight."

"You don't get a night off?"

Britney put her ID into a discreet lock beside a huge wooden doorway, and this doorway, too, slid open for them. "Sunday is Sunset's big night. Entertainment, drinks, whatever you want to buy."

Christina wandered in, as Britney closed the door behind them. A couple of girls, no more than sixteen and dressed all in white, immediately appeared, carrying a long dark red dress, and began fussing over Britney, zipping her into it, pining up her hair. Christina sat down akwardly on a spindly couch, and another girl, curly black hair and wide smile, brought her some more red wine, pouring into her glass, and a plate of dainty things to eat. "What time do you go onstage?"

"Eleven thirty," she answered absently. "Pharrell will be here, I asked him this morning. He'll keep you companioned while I'm singing."

"I don't need a babysitter--" Christina snapped, but Britney interrupted,

"it's not babysitting, it's so someone with a VIP ID is with you so you can get us a decent seat for dinner, calm down." She shooed the girls out of the room for a minute, and looked pained. "We eat at midnight, and then dessert at two thirty. Here," and she tossed a delicate gold bracelet at Christina, which she snapped on her wrist. "That's a guest tag, you'll be good if you flash that. it's got my name on it, charge whatever you want from the bar to that ID. Be good, I have to go."

"But--" and Britney was already sweeping out of the room, skirts swirling out behind her. The handmaidens were gone, so she was on her own. Okay, that was fine, and she stood, strode out the open archway. The door closed with a little click behind her, and she was left in a subdued hallway with a guest bracelet and a set of stairs leading up and to the left.


	9. sunday night

She found the ballroom, four flights of winding staircases getting narrower and narrower, and then she emerged in a brightly lit arch and beside another fountain, presumably through a side entrance. People were gathered, standing around and laughing, talking. Kids in white were quietly setting up on the stage in the far corner, hanging lights and making sure mics were tuned properly.

Pharrell was waiting for her. "You drunk yet, A?"

She glanced down at her empty glass. "Y'know."

"I'll get you more. Red, you're drinkin'?" He waved a hand, and someone appeared immediately, poured them more. "She's on in ten, fifteen or so."

Christina tilted her head, largely ignoring the people around her because, yeah, they had money and yeah, this was more food and drink than she'd get in the next two years, but fucked if she was gonna act like the stupid poor kid, the child allowed to play in the adult world for once. Casual. "One question. What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Oh, y'know. I got contacts. Plus," and he grinned wide, "I like your homegirl, Britney. She's a class act."

Christina let it drop. Maybe he was fucking one of the ladies fluttering around the room, a redhead in gold or a blond in blue, it didn't matter.

Britney's set was a smoky jazz revival, with an arrangement of players behind her and a synch orchestra. Some people danced, most just watched her as she performed, body moving fluid and graceful. Christina's eyes stayed on her waist as she moved, bare hint of skin at her hip, her neck.

"Like I said," Pharrell whispered. "Girl got class."

"Fuck you, too," but it was true, the girl belonged up there, it was obvious she was an audience catch just like any fighter, riling them up, getting them steamed, getting their attention but good.

The set was fifteen numbers, and then the ghosts in white brought around trays of more dainty foods. Christina grabbed handfuls as they scurried past, and eventually, Britney disappeared backstage. She was shoved, Pharrell insistently guiding her, to the back of the room and through two huge glass doors and -- back outside.

To the dining room. under the stars.

There were several huge tables out on the patio, another patio, a huge marble and wood construction out behind the ballroom and bar, a patio build high above the actual ground. A sunken pool was off to the left and down some steps, and long tables, opaque glass and lit from beneath, stretched the length of the patio. The whole place was lit with more torches, and rose petals were scattered on the ground and the tables, smelling sweet.

The view over the balcony on the far side was to the rest of the city, and down into the hills. Beyond the glow of houses, Christina could just make out the docks, far down the hill, and the slums. From up here, the whole city spread out beneath them looked unapproachable and far away. Out to sea, clouds were gathering.

They made their way down to the very end of the balcony, Christina looking over the edge for a while, watching the changing lights. Eventually Pharrell touched her shoulder, and, "baby, we should take a seat; Pearl's already at the head table and the rest of the long seats are filling fast. We'll have to go down a level if we don't sit now."

"Right here," and Christina sat in the closest chair to the balcony. The cushion formed around her instantly. She crossed her legs, waved an arm.

Pharrell put a black reserve card beside Christina, and then went to sit across from them. Christina glanced at the small clock on their end of the table. "where's britney, if her set ended ten minutes ago?"

He stared down the table, watched seats fill up. "She can't just come and sit down. Gotta clean up and stuff." He shrugged. "Most of these people have worn three different outfits already."

She glanced around, men pulling out chairs for women in gauze and silk and scarves and draped in gold, silver, platinum. People were beautiful everywhere, and here and there people, kids really, in white robes, ran around and refilled pitchers of wine, brought out bread and rolls, fruits and left baskets of appetizers on the tables in front of them. Fake candles glowed everywhere.

"So, but soon?"

"Yeah, soon. Enjoy yourself, A," he said, drinking. "this is as good as it gets."

~

Britney came out, introduced her around as the first and second courses came around. A little bit of a break, and then, a main course and then another, then a break and some soup, then another main course. Christina ate heaping platefuls of delicacies while Britney introduced the richest people in the city.

Her second set of songs, this time sitting on a raised dais outside itself, was during the wine and cheese course. Christina clapped along with everyone else. Then another appetizer, then a break and more people, then some kind of dumplings and noodles, and another main course. Midnight came and went, and some people got up to dance, went inside to smoke and get high, drink something stronger than wine, go back into the cool air conditioned building.

During dessert, the kitchen manager or something, Pearl, came to sit across from her and Britney. A fat lard of a guy, old and leering, he smacked his lips as he talked. It was pretty obvious that if he wasn't on the other side of the table his hand would be creeping up her leg, fat fingers hoping to get between her thighs.

They ate chocolate cake and drank carafes of spiked coffee, Pearl and Britney talking business with another two men from the club itself. The owner, Sean, came and said hello but didn't stay, made the rounds to people more important than a slum fighter and a singer who's voice and body made it big.

Bottles of champagne were opened, and Christina followed the little group Britney was chatting with into the ballroom again. A more traditional dance beat was going, more subdued than ALARM but still moveable, and her body started swaying unconsciously as they talked but when Britney held a hand out Christina shook her head. Not enough familiarity with the dancefloor yet.

When it was just the two of them, Britney and Pharrell lost in the crowd, Pearl turned his eye to her. "So." He sipped his champagne. "What do you think of our little club?"

She cocked her hip. "Dinner was great."

"Oh," and licked his lips, a smacking sound audible. She moved back a little bit. "My dear, surely you have more of an opinion than that, seeing the Sunset for the first time."

She smiled, taking another drink. He'd been talking to Britney for almost fifteen, twenty minutes without any notice of her whatsoever. "If you're trying to insinuate, now that the little slum kid's had a taste of the high life, she's supposed to praise it and be very impressed, well, I can answer like that." Fluttered her eyelashes. "oh, sir, I can't believe how well you guys all live up here. I've never seen so much wealth in my life! I hope someday I can be this successful. Thank you so much for letting poor little me through your doors. Should I kiss your ring now?"

Pearl glanced around, held a hand out, "now now, there's no need to be rude--"

"And for your information, I've been here before," Christina interrupted. "An ex girlfriend brought me up every day for a month. And I broke up with *her*, not the other way around. Frankly," she continued, voice low, "I don't give a shit for the club one way or another. Dinner was great, I'm very grateful for the meal and the wine. As for everything else, I don't envy you at all."

"I don't think that's appropriate when you're a *guest* here--"

"motherfucker," and she turned around, end of discussion. He sputtered while Christina wandered away, back to where Britney and Pharrell had started whispering to each other in the corner. Britney looked up, shook her head. "Did you just insult Pearl?"

"The man with the three chins?" She shrugged. "Maybe a little."

"Christ, that's the manager of the Sunset, Christina."

Pharrell slipped something into Britney's hand, looking amused. "Baby, he probably deserved it."

"I'm gonna have my ID revoked," Britney said, sighing. "Unless I blow Pearl I'm gonna have my membership revoked, and then what the fuck am I gonna do for money? It's not like I have rich parents like the rest of these fucks."

Christina tilted her head. "No silver spoon?"

Britney snapped, "No, as a matter of fact; I worked my way up, fucking singing for money whereever I could, singing, stripping, and eventually? I got myself a place."

The three of them, huddled beside a huge pillar in the ballroom, were suddenly more than a little out of place. Christina's clothing was too worn in, and her stance too confident; a fighter's stance, when the rest of the women in the room were curved, leaning, submissive. Britney just looked pissed off, hands on her hips, and Pharrell, in a teeshirt and jeans, was horrifically underdressed. Christina said, "y'know, no offence B, but this party is boring."

Britney sighed again, clicking her teeth together and pursing dark red lips. "It's always boring, it just, it pays well."

Pharrell leaned away, snorted a line of coke off the back of his hand. "You wanna sing, girl?"

Britney nodded. Christina grabbed a couple more tall glasses of champagne off a passing ghost -- better make sure to drink as much as possible before they got kicked out. She winked at the boy, who grinned at her. Pearl was looking over at them, and she raised a glass at him, smiling widely. He scowled at her, and she turned back to Britney.

"It's all I ever wanted to do," Britney was saying, and Pharrell cut her off with,

"you wanna come into the studio some time, girl?" He pulled a titanium card case out of a pocket in his jean jacket, flipped a plastic business card through his fingers. "We could use another diva, and you got the moves, you got the voice."

Christina peered at the clear plastic ID card, as Britney examined it. "Neptune fucking studio? Jesus fuck," she said, "you're at Neptune?"

Pharrell took the second crystal glass from Christina's hand, gulped down some thousand dollar a glass wine carelessly. "Oh, yeah. I kinda own it."

Christina stared. "Jesus fuck," and she threw the glass down on the floor, grabbed Britney's bicep and dragged her towards the door, platform heels clacking loudly through the marble room, footsteps echoing. Several people turned to look at the two of them, and Pharrell tagging along behind. Pearl made to intercept them, a look on his face that looked ready to devour-- Christina just stormed past, muttering, "can't talk now, disgusting fuckhole. Busy."

He made to grab her or Britney, and Christina let go of Britney's arm, stood in front of her. "Try it, shitwad." She instinctively shifted into a boxing stance, balls of her feet, and narrowed her eyes. Intent clear. "Yeah, try it."

People were staring by now, and Pearl backed up a step, waddling away. "I was simply going to--"

Christina made to reply, but Britney stepped out, saying, "No, it's all right, Christina." She looked Pearl up and down, and shook her head, face in a grimace. "You know what I've wanted to do ever since you first touched my thigh?" She stepped back a little, looked down -- then her arm rocketed out and up.

Because by this point everyone had already stopped talking, the slap was audible across the ballroom.

~

Britney dropped her hardtac toast. "Why do I always end up seeing the sun rise when you're around?"

Christina grinned. "Baby, I always see the sun rise. Sun rise and sun set, every day for years."

The diner, in the penthouse of the building across from Christina's high rise, made powdered eggs and toast, but served real fruit juice for more than the rest of the meal. Three in the morning and they still had fresh juice, fresh milk, so fuck it, the powdered eggs were good with salt and it was good enough. The whole place smelled like grease.

Pharrell had an amused grin on his face, in fact he'd had one most of the evening. Christina said, "okay, so level, if you own Neptune Studio, if you put out all the Connect programs, why the fuck do you come to ALARM three nights a week?"

He shrugged. "S'fun."

She shook her head. "You fucking psycho."

Britney still looked angry. "what the fuck'm I gonna do? I moved into the guest quarters two months ago, gave up my old place. Without a patron I'm gonna have to back to the fucking outskirts, washing floors."

Pharrell patted her hand. "Lemme talk to Sean, boo. He'll understand."

Her eyes widened. "You would?" He nodded, and she narrowed her eyes, sighed, shook her head all in the same breath. "No, it's fine. like, I don't want to owe you that many favors. fuck, I don't have anything to offer back, and not going back to whoring for food."

"no, no, you got me wrong. I want you to come to Neptune. you're a money maker. I want that at Neptune. consider it a business deal."

Christina surreptitiously stole his plate while him and Britney were talking. Her stomach was so full it felt like she might burst, rich food and wine and smoke, and she had to be at work in an hour. "listen, I gotta nap before my shift at the Couriers. You got my bill?"

Pharrell nodded. "Guess this means I can't charge you for tabs anymore."

"Fuck no, you motherfucker. I almost didn't make rent last week."

Elevator back down to the street level, and out the door to her own building, three thirty. an hour to sleep before dawn, and back to work, six hours at the Couriers. Christina collapsed into bed, slept soundly and solidly for fifty nine minutes.


	10. monday

Monday morning, right before dawn as she was wheeling her bike out, there was a great clap of thunder and it started to rain.


	11. monday night

"A dozen packages an hour, Chris, so keep moving and don't fuck around. This fucking monsoon is just what we didn't need."

Nick was crabby, that much was clear. Even early he scowled, no slack so Christina scooped up the parcels in their new waterproof envelopes and tucked them on her back. "How long am I working today?"

"Until eight, what the fuck do you think?" and he went to answer the Connect, his whole switchboard was lit up. "Hold please. --We have a thousand new deliveries in this rain, the shipyard's closed until it lets up so all the food has to go straight from the containers to their homes, and no way to transport thousands of tonnes of wine in two hours."

"You need any extra hands? I know a few people."

"Call them, stuff them, mount them, I'll take anyone. Cash under the table." Nick looked desperate, desperate and wet.

She patted his shoulder. He was a good guy, stuck between rich and not but still a good guy, good boss. "Have you some kids in an hour, maybe less."

~

J was home, Pink and Red and Red promised to call a few others, let them know about the job opportunity. She started off on her bike, rain whipping into her face and flooding the streets, to make the deliveries.

Raining, the city smelled different. Still steamy and hot, the water washed the smog away. Raining was one of the only times the city felt clean.

The water kept traffic at a stand-still, business down. The docks were closed, so hundreds of people were left wandering the streets and looking for other ways to get food, money. Christina kept a knife strapped to her boot and eventually all the packages delivered, sun down and time to fight.

ALARM didn't close for water. The ring might be flooded but people would still be there, still want blood and as long as people were paying she'd be there too.

The ceiling dripped. She was soaked by the time Busta let her in, and still it was hot, hot and sticky. The weather never cooled down anymore. No bouts with her name on them, not tonight so she tapped Pharrell on the back, got a tab and dropped it. Mind started to float immediately, and she could even finally ignore the dripping from the ceiling.

~

The latest amateur was a fucked up blond twink of a girl who always wore shorts and thought that a tie made her hardcore, made her someone that could take your knees out. The one time she got up into the A-ring, Christina took her out with just one kick and then stepped on her on the way back to the floor.

This night it's her and some shaved head neo-skinhead with a black eye. Christina, fucked on ketamine and too twitchy to roll with the rest of the dancers in the main room, was hunched against the damp wall, watching the two of them stretch before the bout. The skinhead, she didn't notice, never seen her or the guy all in black behind her so they're probably not slum kids and no one seemed to know their names. The blond girl with, too much goth and not enough balls to even take out MM, is doing important looking stretches and making snarly faces at nothing in particular.

Neither of them even have reps, they're so amateur that the only people watching were the few drugged out specimens needing a quiet place to cool down. Christina wiped her mouth.

The ref, short bald guy staring at the chick's ass as she bent down to tie her expensive fake fucking sneakers -- yeah, the ket was taking a down and nasty turn, bitter and she could feel bile, stupid fucking girl.

Bell chime, Christina looked up blearily. "GO" and then they were feinting, ducking. The girl bore her teeth and the skinhead kicked her ribs, Christina heard the crack from over by the wall.

A few half-hearted cheers, the skater loser was already panting, skinhead barely breaking a sweat and pop. Pop.

Christina noticed the guy all in black chain smoking, smoking and watching like he was all there. She stood up groggily. "Got a light?"

The guy looked over. "You want a cigarette?"

"Please," and another pop, pop and damn. That skater girl wasn't ever coming back. Bleeding lip, now. "Make it worth your while..."

The guy handed her a new smoke, and she lit it off his burning one. "Enjoy," and he turned back to the fight where the skinhead chick -- hot girl, dressed for practicality, not for show or flair -- smashed the girl with her own skateboard.

"Well, that's it then," and the guy went to hand the skinhead the towel.

Christina watched, leaning heavily against the wall. Grungy, and they were already heading off, so nothing there, fuck it, she was going to have to head back into the main room to find anyone else worth her attention. They were the only interesting amateurs in the whole city. Cigarette was good, though.

~

Some scrawny kid challenged her, and in the B ring no less but fuck it, people were tipping so Christina got in, kept one arm behind her back and the kid didn't do too badly, got in some nice moves before she knocked him out. Back on the dancefloor, immediately saw a ring around a couple of people, the crowd leaving enough room for some serious moves and, oh, that pink hair stood out.

She leaned against a pillar, good view of Pink and Red grinding and doing some complicated moves, freestyle, on the dance floor, half sex and half fighting. Hard, yeah, and she ran a hand down her thigh, back up it. Tingle. Pink aimed a kick up at his head, and he grabbed her ankle delicately, licked her calf.

Fuck.

A glance over her way, Pink jerked her head as Red ran his hands down her sides, she moved her hips with his, facing away and towards where Christina was standing. The crowd, a loose circle around them, was slack jawed and panting. Pink licked her lips, a little cracked, raised an eyebrow, arms wrapped around Red's neck from behind.

Tingle, and a shiver.

Christina went, first slotting herself in front of Pink, hands thrown above her head and grinding. And, yeah, thigh between Pink's strong legs, pressing up and *in*. Then Pink slid away, keeping her hands on Christina's ribs, drifting down and up and then down again as she pressed Christina in against Redman, into the middle, moving slowly and driving Christina crazy. She was already soaked through, sweat rolling and beading on her lips.

Shiver, a brushfire down her neck, collarbone, breastbone, through her bellybutton and straight -- *yeah*. Ache.

A mouth at her neck, and Pink licked from her nape to her ear and, a shiver and a tingle and Christina closed her eyes, moving and moving and moving and, shudder, right *there*-- then, a rush and no one was pressed up to her on either side, Red and Pink both gone, and she opened her eyes.

They'd stepped away, and Christina was left gasping in a circle of people pressing closer and closer in on the three of them. Pink was standing in front of her, had her head tilted. Red was grinning wide, leaning on Pink's shoulder casually. Christina gulped down a breath, goosebumps raised all over her arms and legs and stomach and if something wasn't done about it in the next five seconds. She grabbed their wrists, tugged them through the crowd, legs like jelly. Pink let two fingers rest on her hipbone, stroking just a little, just enough to make her skin tremble and, and. And.

_Jesus_ fuck.

~

The three of them found a nice secluded alcove, a bench and enough space. Christina licked up Pink's thighs, tasted and licked while Red held her up from behind, moaning. He kept the rhythm slow and steady, strangely out of sync with the frantic techno, the frenzy. He went slow, and she went slow, and Pink kicked her legs up, braced against the wall and stomach rippling.

Christina slid against Red, him in her and her fingers in Pink, and she barely felt the sweat dripping down her back, her legs. Sweat or rainwater from the roof, sweat or rain, sweat or rain. Her skin was numb, could barely feel Red's hands on her hips holding her body up. it was different and agonizingly slow, and she gasped, a huge shudder going through her.

Red put her down, and she stretched out beside Pink on the bench. He slid down the wall, and their breathing matched up, erratic, ragged, wonderous.


	12. tuesday

"So you're saying it was different?" Nick raised an eyebrow. "Little Christina actually had sex that wasn't fucking?"

Christina left him in the office with the finger and a bitter, "Office work can suck my ass." Nick and his boyfriends, didn't know what he was talking about and whatever.

Outside, it was still raining, noon and the fat droplets stuck to her hair and clung to her lashes. Monsoon weather. Deliveries every ten minutes, each package heavier and bulkier, weighty. The straps on her shoulders were biting in, digging into already strained shoulderblades and wet, everything was wet. Wet and dismal.

Steam rose from the sidewalks as she wheeled her bike into her building, evening and finally Nick had let her rest. Steam was rising off her skin, off the slick bike leather, steam was coating the buildings and clinging to the brick and glass of the entire fucking city. Sauna conditions. Rain and steam.

Tuesday, and more bills were due again in three days, power and Connect overdue and then some and the vultures closing in. The cement outside was covered in sheets of water, all running down to the docks and the sea, no extras from the docker's guild this week and a doctor's appointment in an hour to try and sort out some cracked ribs, abdomninal pain, damage from Saturday.

No point in trying to dry off, or ride down there, Christina stowed her helmet and waded back outside to jog down to the warehouse district, water getting in her eyes.

~

"Christina, there's a very good chance that--"

She flung heavy drenched hair out of her face, could feel the makeup running into her eyes and streaking her cheeks. "Just cut me open and stitch me back up, all right? I need to be in fighting form."

The doctor sighed. "Money?"

"Yeah, I got some."

"Fair enough," and the needle went into her arm, cool, hazy, drowning out the pattering weather.

~

She woke up groggy, her limbs twitching bit by bit, nerve endings tingling. She could feel the paper sheet over her body rustling as the anesthesia wore off and her body trembled, jerking involuntarily.

"Slow," the nurse said, and she willed her limbs to go slack, forced the twitching to still, slowly. A violent shudder went through her, all down her spine, and then still. Another shiver, and Christina opened her eyes with effort, saw herself in the operating room.

"Slow," the nurse repeated.

She started babbling, muttering low. "it's like a tab, like." The doctor looked at her. "The, twitching thing. It's like when you're coming off a tab and your muscles are going."

"It's the anesthetic," the nurse said finally. "Your muscles will spasm, but it'll wear off in a minute or so."

Christina could feel her body slowing, relaxing, and she answered, "how'd it go?"

"Well," and the nurse looked away. "You're not pregnant. That wasn't it."

"I knew that, I take my injections," Christina snapped. "Did you deal with it?"

"You." The nurse was pretty, pretty in a clinical, dull sense. "We removed part of your right kidney, and repaired the internal damage as best we could." She clucked. "You should have come to us in the beginning."

Christina shrugged, felt her shoulders twitch minutely. "Didn't think it was that bad."

"If we had a better idea of what happened--"

"It." A vision of Pink's foot, steel toed boot connecting with her rib and lower, and she swallowed. Or maybe it was falling out of the ring, that time. The bench, digging into her back when Pink had her on her back and Red was over both of them, or when Red was sitting and she was, and. it.

Tried to sit up, and her head spun, skin flushed and in a cold sweat. Vision went momentarily black. "Nothing. Forget it."

The nurse handed her a glass of something sweet and clear, probably mild sugarwater. "You can't do anything strenuous for at least a week." Christina snorted, and the nurse gripped her forearm, worried. "Seriously, unless you want to end up back on the operating table, you have to take it easy. You'll pull the stitches and staples."

"Right." Sucked back on the sugar water, and her side ached, ached dully and the pain in her stomach was barely less than when she went under. "I'll take that under advisement. I'm going home."

"You have to take it easy," the nurse whispered.

Christina marched out of the clinic. around the side of the building, she had to press a hand against the glass, almost blacking out and the slippery glass meant her fingers barely found purchase. Okay. Slow walk home, maybe, wading through puddles and making sure not to stumble. But, take it easy. Yeah. Right.

~

Busta complained, but she refused to fight for at least another two days, couldn't handle the pain in her side and "besides, if I start bleeding everywhere no one's going to have much fun, right?" so she got her way. No fights.

Mostly, Christina lounged around behind Chris and D, curled up in the DJ booth and feeling every inch of her body throb. only half of it was because of the music vibrating through her, the rest was bruising and surgery and shock. "why is it," she said, "that I always feel worse after going under the knife than I did before?"

D patted her head with his hand, long-fingernails curving. "Darling, things are always worse when they're healing."

J came to check on her once or twice, hand-in-hand with his boy. They left together for over an hour, even, she'd have to watch that. Gotta protect people where she could. The two of them, kissing on the dance floor, looked good, but wrong, and totally out of place. Have to watch that close.

"Girl, why don't you just go home?" Chris asked her, some time around four thirty and in the longest sitting down she'd done for almost two months. Danced maybe five, six times, accepted drinks and cocaine from anyone who was offering but pretty much stayed immobile for the whole night.

He didn't get it. "I can't," she said, and sipped another regenerative drink, this time one that Red had passed her from B. "Gotta make it to six am."

He was only the DJ, he wasn't part of the crowd, never out there, always behind the walls of the booth. Him and D, they were what happened to club kids who retired. "If you say so, A," and he looked doubtful but she roused up a grin from somewhere so he left it alone.

"You can stay back here as long as you need," D muttered to her, and it might be her club, her life, but it was a relief. she closed her eyes and rested her head back against the wall, blocking out the sounds as the drink warmed her belly and the drugs soothed her mind. hour and a half until she could go home.

~

J drove her home on her own bike, but she made sure no one saw it, wheeled the bike into the alley herself. His blond boy kissed him goodbye, and said to her, "be careful with yourself."

She flashed a grin, as J tucked her in front of him and started the bike. "of course."


	13. wednesday

"So you're saying it was different?" Nick raised an eyebrow. "Little Christina actually had sex that wasn't fucking?"

Christina left him in the office with the finger and a bitter, "Office work can suck my ass." Nick and his boyfriends, didn't know what he was talking about and whatever.

Outside, it was still raining, noon and the fat droplets stuck to her hair and clung to her lashes. Monsoon weather. Deliveries every ten minutes, each package heavier and bulkier, weighty. The straps on her shoulders were biting in, digging into already strained shoulderblades and wet, everything was wet. Wet and dismal.

Steam rose from the sidewalks as she wheeled her bike into her building, evening and finally Nick had let her rest. Steam was rising off her skin, off the slick bike leather, steam was coating the buildings and clinging to the brick and glass of the entire fucking city. Sauna conditions. Rain and steam.

Tuesday, and more bills were due again in three days, power and Connect overdue and then some and the vultures closing in. The cement outside was covered in sheets of water, all running down to the docks and the sea, no extras from the docker's guild this week and a doctor's appointment in an hour to try and sort out some cracked ribs, abdomninal pain, damage from Saturday.

No point in trying to dry off, or ride down there, Christina stowed her helmet and waded back outside to jog down to the warehouse district, water getting in her eyes.

~

"Christina, there's a very good chance that--"

She flung heavy drenched hair out of her face, could feel the makeup running into her eyes and streaking her cheeks. "Just cut me open and stitch me back up, all right? I need to be in fighting form."

The doctor sighed. "Money?"

"Yeah, I got some."

"Fair enough," and the needle went into her arm, cool, hazy, drowning out the pattering weather.

~

She woke up groggy, her limbs twitching bit by bit, nerve endings tingling. She could feel the paper sheet over her body rustling as the anesthesia wore off and her body trembled, jerking involuntarily.

"Slow," the nurse said, and she willed her limbs to go slack, forced the twitching to still, slowly. A violent shudder went through her, all down her spine, and then still. Another shiver, and Christina opened her eyes with effort, saw herself in the operating room.

"Slow," the nurse repeated.

She started babbling, muttering low. "it's like a tab, like." The doctor looked at her. "The, twitching thing. It's like when you're coming off a tab and your muscles are going."

"It's the anesthetic," the nurse said finally. "Your muscles will spasm, but it'll wear off in a minute or so."

Christina could feel her body slowing, relaxing, and she answered, "how'd it go?"

"Well," and the nurse looked away. "You're not pregnant. That wasn't it."

"I knew that, I take my injections," Christina snapped. "Did you deal with it?"

"You." The nurse was pretty, pretty in a clinical, dull sense. "We removed part of your right kidney, and repaired the internal damage as best we could." She clucked. "You should have come to us in the beginning."

Christina shrugged, felt her shoulders twitch minutely. "Didn't think it was that bad."

"If we had a better idea of what happened--"

"It." A vision of Pink's foot, steel toed boot connecting with her rib and lower, and she swallowed. Or maybe it was falling out of the ring, that time. The bench, digging into her back when Pink had her on her back and Red was over both of them, or when Red was sitting and she was, and. it.

Tried to sit up, and her head spun, skin flushed and in a cold sweat. Vision went momentarily black. "Nothing. Forget it."

The nurse handed her a glass of something sweet and clear, probably mild sugarwater. "You can't do anything strenuous for at least a week." Christina snorted, and the nurse gripped her forearm, worried. "Seriously, unless you want to end up back on the operating table, you have to take it easy. You'll pull the stitches and staples."

"Right." Sucked back on the sugar water, and her side ached, ached dully and the pain in her stomach was barely less than when she went under. "I'll take that under advisement. I'm going home."

"You have to take it easy," the nurse whispered.

Christina marched out of the clinic. around the side of the building, she had to press a hand against the glass, almost blacking out and the slippery glass meant her fingers barely found purchase. Okay. Slow walk home, maybe, wading through puddles and making sure not to stumble. But, take it easy. Yeah. Right.

~

Busta complained, but she refused to fight for at least another two days, couldn't handle the pain in her side and "besides, if I start bleeding everywhere no one's going to have much fun, right?" so she got her way. No fights.

Mostly, Christina lounged around behind Chris and D, curled up in the DJ booth and feeling every inch of her body throb. only half of it was because of the music vibrating through her, the rest was bruising and surgery and shock. "why is it," she said, "that I always feel worse after going under the knife than I did before?"

D patted her head with his hand, long-fingernails curving. "Darling, things are always worse when they're healing."

J came to check on her once or twice, hand-in-hand with his boy. They left together for over an hour, even, she'd have to watch that. Gotta protect people where she could. The two of them, kissing on the dance floor, looked good, but wrong, and totally out of place. Have to watch that close.

"Girl, why don't you just go home?" Chris asked her, some time around four thirty and in the longest sitting down she'd done for almost two months. Danced maybe five, six times, accepted drinks and cocaine from anyone who was offering but pretty much stayed immobile for the whole night.

He didn't get it. "I can't," she said, and sipped another regenerative drink, this time one that Red had passed her from B. "Gotta make it to six am."

He was only the DJ, he wasn't part of the crowd, never out there, always behind the walls of the booth. Him and D, they were what happened to club kids who retired. "If you say so, A," and he looked doubtful but she roused up a grin from somewhere so he left it alone.

"You can stay back here as long as you need," D muttered to her, and it might be her club, her life, but it was a relief. she closed her eyes and rested her head back against the wall, blocking out the sounds as the drink warmed her belly and the drugs soothed her mind. hour and a half until she could go home.

~

J drove her home on her own bike, but she made sure no one saw it, wheeled the bike into the alley herself. His blond boy kissed him goodbye, and said to her, "be careful with yourself."

She flashed a grin, as J tucked her in front of him and started the bike. "of course."

Work the next day was a blur, she did two adrenaline tabs and had three stim drinks, and even so by six pm, the end of her shift, Christina was dazed and pain was shooting up her side. The rain was slowing down, one monsoon of many to come, the first deluge.

At home, Britney's ID flashed on her Connect, and it was maybe a handout but her stomach growled so she took the call.

A car came to pick her up, and she only held her stitches until the door closed.

~

No red wine this time, and it was barely eight pm so they couldn't be going for early dinner, drinks or the like. There were sandwiches in a cooler at her feet, though, and Christina helped herself without asking, ate three in rapid succession and then slumped against the seats, feeling the sealant on her cuts numb the skin.

Britney stared most out the window and Christina watched buildings go past until finally, quicker than she'd thought, they ended up slowing down and stopping in front of a warehouse. A warehouse in front of one of the smaller docks. "Uh."

Britney put a finger to her lips, and then she realized. This was Neptune Studios.

~

"So I'm here why?"

Britney had her elbow, was guiding her slightly in and around the studio. "Bodyguard."

"I'm what?"

"No, really," and Britney laughed. "I'm supposed to be recording tonight, and, since. Well. Sean doesn't want you back at the Sunset."

"Fuck, really?" She snorted. "Guess I made a bad impression. Really. Why am I here?"

Britney pursed her lips. "Can't I just like you? I don't live in a tenement, I live uptown, there isn't always something on the agenda. You don't," and she put a hand on Christina's shoulder, cool hand with smooth skin, "you don't have to live like that every day."

Christina went back to watching the other lady in the recording booth. She had about an hour before Busta would start to wonder where she was, ten pm a good enough time to show up without people talking. An hour to see what kind of magic made the music Chris and D and Chad and everyone else mixed down at alarm all the nights she was there dancing.

"That's one of our most popular singers," pharrell said, coming up behind them. "Britney, notice what she's doing. You'll be singing next week; I'll get her to talk to you later."

The girl was hot, in an almost-dangerous way. The way Christina liked them best. One of the ways Christina liked them best. Her voice was sultry and commanding, Christina couldn't help but listen. "So how available is she?" she asked, as Shakira finished crooning into the microphone and the studio tech cut to an ad.

"They say a guy cheated on her, once," Pharrell remarked.

Shakira, mic off, gulped a lot of water and looked as tired as everyone else. Mouth closed she was no one different, just another very hot girl. Britney said, "oh?"

Pharrell nodded. "Yeah."

"And?"

"Well," and Pharrell jutted his chin out, the tech snapped back to Shakira. She closed her eyes, started singing again. "They say he did. No one could really find him after the rumor started." Shakira winked at the three of them through the glass divider, and Pharrell turned her voice up a little bit on his board, the guitar down. "Or the girl."

"Oh?"

He nodded. "Yeah. So they say."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Christina decided not to watch the move of her hips or the softness of her lips too much, kept staring right into her eyes.

~

Justin was waiting outside the studio in his two seater. Even though he offered, and with Britney curled tightly against the door there probably would have been room, Christina walked. She made her way slowly, winding around the different docks and through the warehouses, her feet moving unconsciously, until she saw the sign that read **alarm**.


	14. wednesday night

Her name was only on two matches tonight, not till after midnight so she did a tab and mud wrestled for a while, warmed up slowly on a diet of the black girl from last week -- she'd already lost the name but the bear claw tattoos, those would stick with her -- and a little bit of a boy from the suburbs. He seemed grateful enough to be between the two of them, panted and moaned and it was over all too quickly.

She danced her way through the house beats, the techno, and the industrial that was pumped into the other dance floors, and it was almost eleven thirty before she actually made it to the main dance hall, sweaty and finally shaking off fatigue. Went down on a girl with short brown hair, and Red again -- there was something about him, cock massive and his hands seemed to find just the most relaxing places on her neck afterwards. He rubbed her neck while they danced, and she was almost ready to fight when B called her name the first time.

The girl was some new up and comer from another club, and Christina sussed her out, let her have the advantage for a little while until she spied Britney in the crowd, J leaning over her protectively and looking concerned. Christina spat, brushed her hair out of her face and knocked the chick out with two punches and in less than five seconds.

~

"what're you doing here?" she said to Britney, being handed a towel and shoved on all sides by the audience. A coy smile at the boys behind her, wiped the blood off her lip and tried not to show how much she was limping to the right. "Thought this wasn't your scene."

"J asked if I wanted to come." Britney obviously had dressed down for this, wearing something more see thru and less classy. She still moved differently from everyone else.

Christina threw the towel down, came up to dance with her. Britney fell into the rhythm willingly. "He's a good guy," Christina mumbled, hands around Britney's waist and fingernails trailing little circles. "he's a good guy. you should just let him go."

Britney was keeping herself pressed up against her, this time, not pulling away and heating things up to a fever pitch, thump thump thump and they were grinding together. "I let him go a while ago."

Christina glanced over to where J and his little boy were dancing and trying to be subtle. It wasn't working. "let's go over there," and she tugged Britney through the dancers, wrapped one arm around J from behind.

"what d'you want?" his boy asked, and J turned around, startled, to stare down into her face.

"you're gonna lose favor quick if you keep this up, J," Christina said, still clutching Britney's forearm tightly. Other hand started stroking him through his shorts. "Don't matter how good you fight. you gotta seem available."

He glared, and had to lean down to whisper in her ear. "I'm bein' discreet, what the fuck does it matter to you?"

She kissed his cheek, gently, and didn't bother to lower her voice. "baby, there ain't nothing discreet about you. if you're gonna appear caught, make sure you give the audience a show for it. Might extend your chances."

"That's not what it's" he started to say angrily, and Britney was trying to pull away from her, but his boy, angry glint too but also staring right at Christina and not J, said, "maybe she's right, showing people something hot might keep you from losing favor."

"If." J's hips were still moving in time, Christina's hand slowly stroking him. she was pretty sure he didn't even realise it. The audience around them, not to mention the bettors in the top seats, had, she could hear the catcalls. The DJ slowed the music down a bit, just enough to have a fucking beat. J pulled away from her, finally, said to his boy, "you'd do that?"

His answer was lost as Christina turned back to the pretty girl she was bruising. It would have to be a yes, or J would be lost, have to go home defeated. "You didn't have to do that to him," Britney murmured.

"I saved his ass for at least a few months," she replied over the noise, the yells and the fervor pitch of the crowd. "Fighters can't look like they play favorites." They slowly made their way across the main dance floor to the hallway leading to the smaller rooms. "our appeal," she said, biting Britney's neck, "is that anyone at any time might be honored by a dance."

Britney's fingers were just barely touching her under her skirt, weaving little patterns on the skin right around her thong. "and J can't look like he cares about anyone, or if he does, that people might get in on that action too?"

"mmmm, right there," Christina said, rolling her head back, and suddenly the hand was gone, Britney was gone and she opened her eyes. Deserted at the entrance to the main dance floor. She leaned against the wall, put her own hand under her skirt even though a dozen people would probably be willing to take care of her. Own fingers, own nails, one hand bracing against the wall and the other slicking herself up. again and again and again and just as she cried out,

opened her eyes and Pink was standing in front of her, sunglasses on and hair messy. Christina took a few ragged breaths. pink said, "they want you back in the ring."

~

"I don't get it," Christina said slowly. She looked up to the top box, B staring down. He looked a bit worried. Pink and red were both biting their lips, leaning on the ropes, Britney had hidden herself away in the DJ booth. "What's goin' on?"

J tossed her hand-wraps over, lips pursed. "They finally figured out that we're the hottest commodities in this joint."

"so, what." She didn't really want to ask it, not two days out of surgery and feeling the strain in every muscle. Not with his boy staring up at them, big green eyes just screaming emotion. Not this way. Not.

"Just accept it, A," he said, and grinned. "We're gonna do something no one else'll top."

She was already unrolling the wraps, her skin was already quivering as the breeze blew across it. Goosebumps. No real way to prepare for this. She glanced around, the audience sounding far away and yet she knew that they were screaming, screaming bloody murder for this because no other way they'd ever have let this happen. B wouldn't have let it, not unless there was serious money on them fighting. "We getting paid for this stunt?" she asked, suddenly. "I could use it."

He actually laughed, though it wasn't really audible over the music. "Be gentle," he mouthed, as they climbed into the ring together. She was grateful he said it so she didn't have to.

The music cut out, just like Saturday's fight but without the effects, nothing but her and J squaring off in the center of the ring, Justin, her fists up and they bumped together with his and then she retreated to her own corner. Crowd silenced itself, and the siren sounded.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the scoreboard flash 'round one'.

~

A handful of fifties. A handful of fifties, and pink had to carry her out of the ring practically, the blond restrained by Britney as Justin limped out, slumped against Red and had to sit down immediately, Christina was gratified to see.

They did equal damage, equal damage and equal cash. Justin, J, Justin, and he'd mumbled "you did good," and she'd punched him lightly for the nerve of it. They were carried to B's office, he insisted on having his own boy, the fourteen year old who wheeled Christina's bike to the ring each week, look at their damage. She never knew he was the med help on standby. she'd never really been this damaged before.

"goddamned high bets, man," B had said. "I should have told you two first, you could have choreographed something like Pink and Red did, put on a nice show and y'all coulda walked out under your own power."

Christina said sharply, "shut up," because neither of them were soft, they could do it, they had. "We can handle it."

"just not again for a while," J interrupted, eyes closed. "Christ."

The boy slathered more sealant on their arms and legs, put the lotion on every patch of skin he could. The clock read three thirty, and Christina sat up akwardly. "I gotta get back out to the floor."

"you're done for tonight--"

"I gotta get back out to the floor," she repeated, standing on her own. A little dizzy, but a tab would fix that, and, "You comin', J?"

He got up, not without difficulty. B let them go. he'd been in the ring, once upon a time, himself.

~

"one last dance?" Christina murmured in Britney's ear. One of her fingernails had been torn off, and was bleeding through the wraps she hadn't bothered to take off her hands, but she was still hot and there was still bass pounding in her head and body.

Britney leaned away from her. "No, not tonight."

"You comin' back?"

Britney smiled at her, enigmatic. "I gotta go." She waved over at Pharrell, who started to make his way over to them. "I gotta go."

Christina leaned over, kissed Britney's lips. The two of them danced together, as Pharrell came over, lips working against each other. Her tongue licked the roof of Britney's mouth, and when Britney pulled away she could see blood from her bottom lip on Britney's. Her lip gloss was cherry flavored. "bye," Christina said.

Britney left.

Five am, and Christina had taken enough tabs that the whole world was floating by, she was just dancing with herself, watching the ceiling tick past. J kissed the top of her head at one point, Red went down on her and it was all just floating. Five thirty, and B came by to make her have another regenerative drink, six o'clock and Pink finally took her hand.


	15. thursday morning

She let Pink steer the bike back to her apartment, and when they finally got upstairs pink just undressed her slowly and made her lay back, then flipped the blinds closed and undressed too. took the wraps off her hands, and made no moves.

"what're you doing here, then?" but pink just put some more sealant on the bruises, pulled the sheet up.

Christina stretched, carefully, sinking into her mattress. "Don't you ever get tired of it?" Pink asked suddenly.

Christina kinda shrugged. "There's not a lot else to life."

Pink rustled the sheets, mindful not to kick her shins for the bruises. "There is, you know."

"Not for me."

"Yeah," and Pink grinned, shoved her playfully, pretty gently. "You really do love it as much as you seem to."

"Yep," and Christina yawned, rolled over, shuffled. Pink's legs were nestled in with hers, and as the sun was visible between her curtains and blinds, Christina slept.


End file.
